Dream
by Declan Kai
Summary: He never knew what it meant to grieve a loved one. Now he knows. Part I of the Dream Series. One-Shot


_**A/N:**_ _**This is the first piece to a (hopefully) 4 part series of one-shots. Enjoy!  
**_

_**All mistakes are my own.**_

_**Warning: Mild swearing involved.**_

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A deadly scowl passed over Danny Messer's face as he sat, hunched forward slightly, appearing more intimidating that he actually cared. That was it; he didn't care anymore, about anything. And the idiot sitting in front of him was no where near the top of his priority list either. They were in interrogation, and the man would be charged with murder for strangling his wife to death. Far from caring, Danny was bordering on killing the guy himself if he didn't talk soon. He wanted to know why, and he wasn't leaving otherwise.

Beside Danny sat Flack. He was silent, sitting back in his chair alternating his gaze between the middle aged, balding man sitting in front of him, and the emotional CSI beside him. He had nothing more to say. They had already gotten the man for murder and that was enough for him. This was Danny's business and he wasn't stupid enough to leave Danny, who looked just about ready to pull out his gun and shoot the man in head. He sighed, pushed his chair back so he could stretch his legs slightly and crossed his arms.

"Why'd you do it?" Danny asked. His voice was soft, barely audible and filled with suppressed rage.

The man said nothing. His eyes flicked to Danny, acknowledging that he had heard the question but refused to answer. He chuckled and turned to Flack, who was staring intensely at him, studying his every move. He looked back to the CSI and registered the fury that wasn't very well hidden behind his eyes.

Flack turned to Danny when the CSI repeated his question.

"Come on Chase. Why'd you do it?" Danny asked again, louder this time. His patience was growing thin and his anger was just about to erupt.

Chase Grant remained quiet but smiled at Danny, knowing that the younger man was a mere inch from breaking. He shrugged casually and looked at Flack. He smiled again but was disappointed with the tall detective's lack of enthusiasm. He looked back to Danny who was now visibly holding back a storm; clenched hands, whitening knuckles, heavy breathing, and eyes darkening by the passing second. He spoke, softly, happily, easily. "Just felt like it I guess. I was bored with her."

Danny sucked in a breath. _I was bored with her_. That was what the moron in front of him had said. There wasn't any mistake there and the fucker was smiling at him again. "Son of a bitch," he muttered and before he knew it, he'd slid his chair back, stood up and his fist was halfway to meeting its intended target. But Don had pulled him back, restraining him tightly as he continued to curse the smiling man, who hadn't so much as flinched.

Danny was dragged out of the interrogation room and Don released him into the deserted corridor. He turned to Don with a murderous look. Don had his hands on his waist. There were a dozen emotions running through his face; confusion, shock, disappointment, understanding. But he said nothing.

Danny stood, one hand rubbing his wrist where Don had grabbed him. Danny's eyes locked on the man in the room, who had turned and was now smiling at him out the window. He felt his blood boil. Don spoke but Danny didn't hear him. Don spoke again, and this time he had grabbed Danny by the arm, forcing the CSI to look at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Messer?" Don demanded. He tried to keep his voice low but wondered if anything short of a punch to gut would get anything through to Danny. His eyes remained on the smaller man who was ignoring him again.

"Danny!" Don said loudly.

Danny tore his eyes away from smiling murderer and turned to Flack. He had no intention of explaining himself. Not now, not ever. "Fuck you, Don." He turned and calmly walked down the hallway before disappearing around the corner.

Apparently Don had called Mac because the moment he exited the elevator and entered the lab, his phone beeped. He took it out and read the message. It was Mac, and he wanted to see Danny in his office immediately. Danny slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked to Mac's office without a word to anybody. He saw Mac through the glass signing a few papers, and without so much as a knock, he pulled the door open and barged in.

"You wanted to see me?" Danny asked rudely. He wasn't in any mood to be entertaining anyone with _manners_.

Mac looked up but his face remained impassive. "Sit down."

"I'll stand thanks," Danny replied.

"Fine," Mac said. He stood up and looked out the window. He could feel Danny's eyes on him. "I got a call from Don."

"How is he?" Danny replied smartly.

Mac turned to him sharply. "This isn't funny, Danny."

"You don't see me laughing."

Mac's own temper was being tested but he swore to himself that he wouldn't let the situation get out of hand. "You were going to physically harm Chase Grant weren't you?"

"That was the idea," Danny replied nonchalantly. "He killed his wife, Mac."

"I've read the case file," Mac told him. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why are you doing this, Danny?"

Danny turned to look out the window. He didn't answer.

"You haven't been yourself for the past week," said Mac. "You've been short tempered, leaving your scenes without any valid reason, you…"

"So fire me then." His voice was steady without a hint of sarcasm. Danny un-holstered his piece and unhooked his badge, flinging them both in Mac's general direction. They both watched the gun land on the floor, sliding to Mac's feet. The badge had hit the foot of the table and slid beneath it. "I quit," Danny said and made a move towards the door.

"I'm not accepting your resignation, Danny," said Mac and he watched as the younger man stop in front of the glass door. "I know how you're feeling."

"I bet you do," Danny replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What exactly am I feeling then? Care to share, Mac?"

"You're angry at the world, and I get that," Mac replied. He watched as Danny rolled his eyes and scoff.

"Good of you to notice," Danny said dryly. "Any more observations you want to share with me?"

Mac remained silent for a moment before raising his voice. "What the hell is wrong with you, Danny?"

"I thought Mac Taylor knew everything," Danny replied, crossing his arms. "Or is that just office gossip?"

Mac held back the urge to punch Danny's lights out but forced himself to calm down instead.

"You got anything else to say to me, Mac?" asked Danny as he turned back to the door. "I've got better things to do that waste my time here."

"Do you?" Mac asked calmly. "The team needs you, Danny."

Danny remained silent before he slowly turned to Mac, who could see the conflicting emotions running through his CSI. "The team needed her too," Danny replied softly. "I needed her," and he left.

He wanted to slam the door behind him, hoping that the glass would crack into a million pieces. But as luck would have it, he couldn't, and it was reinforced glass anyway. Without making eye contact with anyone, Danny headed straight to the elevator. He barely noticed passing Stella on the way.

"Hey, Danny," Stella greeted, but Danny ignored her. She looked at him oddly and turned to the direction he came from. She saw Mac standing there, looking angry yet defeated. She turned back to Danny and ran after him. Rounding the corner, she saw him in the elevator, face covered with his hands, sliding down to the floor as the doors closed. She ran for the fire exit.

Stepping out of the elevator, he made a left and entered the locker room. Making his way to his own, he sat down on the wooden bench which creaked slightly beneath his weight. He wished everything around him would just explode, would just end. He didn't want anything to do with anything or anyone anymore.

Danny stood up and opened his locker door, revealing it to be near empty save his jacket, and a photo that was stuck on to the inside of the locker door. A part of him wished he could have yanked the entire door off, throw it around, abuse everything in sight, but he couldn't. Carefully detaching the picture from the door, he sat down on the floor with it in his hands and just stared; letting the memories it carried wash over him, bringing the twang of pain back to his heart. He closed his eyes.

"Danny…"

He thought it was her, so he opened his eyes and turned, eagerly, hopefully, but was disappointed; it was only Stella. He turned back to the photo and didn't say anything. The people in the photo were smiling back at him; one was his own face but he didn't recognise that man anymore. He was already dead.

"Danny…" Stella said softly, making her way to Danny's side. She sat on the bench beside him, letting her hand rest on his shoulder. "What happened between you and Mac?" she asked, hoping Danny would open up more like how he used to. But it was a while before he replied in a bare whisper.

"Nothing, everything…I don't know," Danny replied dejectedly. "I'm done, Stella."

"Done?" Stella repeated. "What do you mean _done_?"

Danny remained fixed on the picture, barely aware of his surroundings. "I can't do this anymore."

"You're giving up?"

Danny nodded.

"What would she have said?" asked Stella. She wasn't willing to lose him too.

"What does it matter?" Danny asked. "She's not here."

"Yes she is," Stella replied.

Danny turned to her slightly. "Please don't give me the 'she's in your heart' crap."

"Isn't she?"

Danny turned back to the photograph in his hand. Everyone looked so happy, the absolute opposite to what he was feeling at that very moment. "Yeah, but she's not here…"

A tear drop fell onto the photo's glossy surface.

It was an hour later that he managed to gain the strength to stand again, and he left the lab without a single backwards glance. Exiting the building, he hailed a cab and gave the address to the driver. As they sped along the congested roads of Manhattan, Danny lost himself in his thoughts and before long, they had arrived. He paid and thanked the cabbie when the elderly man had told Danny he could wait if Danny wanted him to. Danny had politely declined and watched the cab pull out to join the mainstream of cars on the road before turning around. He passed through metal gates and headed in deeper until he was where he wanted and needed to be.

He fell to his knees and leaned forward, bracing himself with his arms as the tears began to fall uncontrollably. His body shook and he felt as if the pain of every single injury that had been dealt to him had come back, all at once. The tears refused to cease and he could taste saltiness as a few drops would seep into the corner of his mouth.

All around him, the wind began to pick up, blowing dried leaves everywhere as the sky began to darken. It was already approaching the end of autumn and winds of winter could already be felt now and again, howling between the tall buildings of New York City.

Danny looked up and read the inscription on the small memorial headstone. _Lindsay Messer - Loving and devoted friend, daughter and wife._ His heart lurched again as fresh tears fell. It happened all too fast, leaving a grey blur in his mind. He remembered the first time she had volunteered for an undercover job, they didn't have a lot of time, and he went along with it, unhappy, but there was nothing he could do. She had come out unscathed that time, but he should have known better than to try his luck twice. A similar incident has occurred again, a young girl was going to be killed if the money wasn't delivered in fifteen minutes. Lindsay volunteered again, even though he had tried to talk her out of it. They stormed the apartment three minutes later, but Lindsay was already on the floor with a bullet through the side of her neck. Her blood was everywhere. She was dying in his arms and the last words she managed to utter were 'I love you, Danny.' He had told her he loved her too, and he held her, tightly, until someone told him he had to let go. He had cried, not giving a damn if there were people watching. He didn't care.

He blinked, and noticed for the first time since he arrived, a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting beside the headstone. He thought maybe one of the team had passed by recently, and he didn't even think to bring any of his own for her. He'd always been stupid and forgetful, but she used to wave it off and kiss him anyway. It hurt. It hurt to know that he'd never feel her lips against his ever again, or have her in his arms, or hear her singing in the kitchen. They'd been married two years and it had ended up like this; dead. They were both dead. He had died with her in that apartment two weeks ago. Now he didn't know what to do.

He closed his eyes.

He wasn't cold anymore, and the wind was gone. The pain was still there in his heart, but it felt distant. He opened his eyes but closed them immediately and turned away from the sun. He was warm. He took in his surroundings; he was back in his old apartment. There was movement, and he realised there was a body wrapped around his; her face was against his chest, partly hidden by her brown curls. She moved again and stretched. He stared. Lindsay was looking up at him.

"Morning, Cowboy," she greeted happily. "You're lucky you've got the day off."

"Call in sick," Danny replied softly, a part of him was still in confused shock. Was it all a dream? He felt Lindsay chuckle.

"Mac's going to know I'm not sick," said Lindsay. "I was fine yesterday."

Danny smiled. "I'm sure he's heard of bad egg rolls."

Lindsay grinned back and leaned in for a kiss. She pulled back and looked at him oddly. "Are you okay?" she asked, and he couldn't help but smile as a few tears threatened to spill.

"I'm great." _I've never felt better_…

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_**A/N: Thoughts? Suggestions? Please review and share them.**_


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